


the brightest pearl

by endless_dreamer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Asian Character(s), Dying/Grieving, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Family, Fate & Destiny, Feminism, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ, Lesbian, POC Inclusivity, Romance, Slurs, Star-crossed, cheesy romantic fluff, mermaid!Cho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26148709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endless_dreamer/pseuds/endless_dreamer
Summary: In which a witch fails to follow plans and a mermaid frees herself.(the story of mermaid!Cho and the witch that falls in love with her)
Relationships: Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang/Harry Potter, Cho Chang/Original Character(s), Cho Chang/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	the brightest pearl

Mingzhu launched herself out of her father’s arms, propelling herself down the seashore, a delighted laugh bubbling from her lips. She could feel the sand bending under her feet, slipping in between her toes.

“Mingzhu!” her mother called out in that entirely too familiar tone of exasperation, followed by her father’s equally as familiar, but far more pleasant, chuckle. “Come back here--we don’t have time for that. We need to get home, your father is hungry--”

“--but he can wait fifteen minutes,” her father interrupted, despite the warning look on her mother’s face. Mingzhu turned to face him, beaming. She’d missed her father over the past three weeks for many reasons, but she’d especially missed him backing her up in her (frequent) clashes with her mother.

Her mother cast a glance at the short path to the borders of the village, and then to the seashore, and a third glance up at the sky, where the moon was just starting to rise. Mingzhu could anticipate her mother’s thought process--it would be faster and more convenient to go down that path rather than down the seashore and up the much longer path. She pouted at her mother, putting her most charming and irresistible expression on her face--the one she knew had made her mother’s steel facade crack in the past, and brought her father to his knees willing to do basically anything for her.

“ _ Please _ , Mama?” she pleaded. “Just a few minutes? Home is right there!” She pointed up at the cliff where the outline of their cottage was visible, the only cottage that dared to be so close to the edge of the cliff. Her father’s smile widened instantly, and he turned to face her mother, mirroring the pleading look on her face.

Mingzhu’s mother pursed her lips for a moment, obviously trying to resist. Then the serious mask on her face cracked and she rolled her eyes, relenting with a small nod. 

Mingzhu’s face brightened and she immediately turned to her father, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the seashore with her. “Come on, Papa, you still need to tell me everything about your last trip. How many new islands did you see this time?”

With her mother trailing behind reluctantly, she dragged her father down to where the water met the sand, the sea licking at her feet. “Three--and you would’ve loved them, my pearl,” he said chuckling as he followed her. Mingzhu’s gaze focused on the horizon and she squinted at the sea, trying to find these islands.

Instead, she saw something more... _ peculiar. _

She could make out a woman’s face--only her skin was  _ glowing _ . She squinted, eyebrows furrowed as she watched the woman coming closer to the shore, swimming faster than she’d ever seen anyone else swim before. As she approached the shore, Mingzhu started to make out more features: delicately curled horns sitting atop its head, elegant dark hair falling down its back, silk robes draped over its body. She shifted her gaze and could see more women like her, emerging from the water.

“Who are they...?” Mingzhu asked, wonder clear in her voice. 

Instinctively, she wanted to take a step forward, closer to the women, but instead felt a strong grip on her arms pull her back roughly. Mingzhu made a sound of protest as she found herself locked in her mother’s arms; when she looked over her shoulder at her mother’s face, she found that all traces of amusement had vanished completely. Her mother was staring at the glowing women with a hateful sneer on her lips, more hate than Mingzhu had ever seen on her face.

What was most surprising, though, was the fear in her eyes. She’d never known her mother to be afraid of anything, not even the angry brawny men who stormed into their house demanding she get on her knees for them.

“Stop it. Don’t look at them. They’re  _ monsters,” _ her mother whispered fiercely, still crushing Mingzhu to her chest so tightly Mingzhu had a little difficulty breathing. She swatted at her mother’s arms, and her mother released her grip, seeming unaware that she’d been holding Mingzhu so tightly. She gave Mingzhu’s father a look. “We’re going home.  _ Now. _ It’s too dangerous.” Her tone brokered no room for argument.

Despite her mother’s reprimand, Mingzhu couldn’t look away from them--and didn’t want to leave yet. The jiaoren were stepping out of the water onto the seashore; her mother stepped back, pulling Mingzhu with her, distrust flashing in her eyes. Mingzhu could see that, somehow, their robes were miraculously dry. More enchanting was the expressions on their faces as they looked up at the moon--almost  _ reverential. _

Her father freed her from her mother’s grip, pulling her gently into his side. “They’re not monsters--they’re jiaoren. Mermaids,” he said, giving her mother a disapproving look and smiling gently down at Mingzhu. “They’re bound to the sea until the moon rises. Then, they can walk wherever they want.”

That explained why they looked so happy. Mingzhu watched as more jiaoren emerged from the sea, catching a brief glimpse of pearly tails turning into human legs. She was even more fascinated, turning up to look at her father, with curiosity burning in her eyes. “So you’ve seen one before?” Her eyes widened as another thought occurred to her. “Have you  _ talked _ to one before?”

“Don’t talk about them like they’re human. They’re abominations,” her mother reprimanded sharply, the pure hate in her mother’s voice astonishing Mingzhu.

“I’ve seen them often,” her father answered, ignoring her mother’s comment with another disapproving look. “They approach sailors’ boats often--usually to make sure that we don’t intend on harming any of the creatures in the sea. They’re very, very protective, and it’s incredibly hard to earn their trust.” His gaze shifted to the jiaoren, respect shining in his eyes. “But they’re deeply loyal. And extremely talented--some of them wove sails for us, after ours were destroyed in storms.” He bent down closer to Mingzhu, pointing at the jiaoren’s robes, specifically at the detailed embroidery. “They weave their robes themselves too, with magically enchanted silk that doesn’t get wet.”

“Your father,” her mother cut in darkly, “is forgetting to mention that they do all of that to trap the sailors. They weave traps for sailors, and then steal their hearts--because they’re heartless.” Malice filled her voice. “Heartless, evil, selfish creatures.”

Her father scoffed. “They’re actually self _ less. _ I’ve seen many jiaoren sacrifice themselves without hesitation to save other jiaoren--or any creature in the sea. I don’t think any human would do that.”

“Selfless? Tell her about the pearls then,” her mother returned, eyes flashing. Mingzhu’s eyes were widened, her head volleying between the two of them. She’d never seen her parents arguing like this before.

Her father sighed slightly, a more uncertain expression falling upon his face. “There is one way that the jiaoren can be freed...their tears are charmed to become pearls, and if they give the pearls to a human, then they can leave the sea whenever they wish.” Her mother made an impatient sound, and her father continued, reluctance clear in his tone. “Some people believe, though, that the pearls are cursed and that the jiaoren use them to trick their way to freedom—to enchant whoever takes them, and then kill them so they can claim their lives.”

Mingzhu’s eyes widened at this description of such ruthlessness. “Do you really think that’s true?” she whispered, her gaze returning to the jiaoren. Most of them were making their way up the winding path to the village.

Her father shook his head. “No. I’ve heard tales that the jiaoren become bound to whoever they give their pearls to—and that these people often exploit them, so they kill them to protect themselves, or one another.” His face darkened slightly. “I don’t know what is truth or fiction, though.”

Mingzhu’s mind was swimming with confusion. Everything her parents had told her so far should’ve made her distrustful of the jiaoren—regardless of whether or not the tales were true, every story she’d ever heard about any magical creature had ended with a warning to all wix to avoid the creature. But she found herself increasingly curious, her gaze returning, unbidden, to the jiaoren—like a magnet.

Mingzhu’s mother’s sense of necessity came in, and she declared, disapproval reverberating off of her, “It doesn’t matter--because Mingzhu will not be going anywhere near any of them, and it’s time to go now. Enough of this.” She grabbed Mingzhu’s hand, pulling her back toward him and guiding her to the path up to the village.

Mingzhu wanted to resist, but could see the coldness on her mother’s face and thought better of it, instead following behind her mother. Her father followed behind her, and she could see feel a new tension between her parents, creating an impenetrable distance that she was now floating in.

Mingzhu knew that this meant that she should forget about the jiaoren. This little fascination she was developing was entirely inappropriate and illogical. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself from throwing one last glance over her shoulder. 

Mingzhu caught sight of a younger jiaoren coming out of the sea, fresh-faced and clear-eyed. Tears of joy fell down her face, crystallizing before they hit the sand—a sight so mesmerizing that Mingzhu’s father had to nudge her gently to keep her moving, an understanding expression on his face.

Her face reddened and she immediately focused on the path instead, trying not think about the joyful jiaoren or how her heart felt so light, like she could just float away.

* * *

Mingzhu’s heart felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

She paced around her parents’ room restlessly. Normally, she associated this room with joy and life and love. She would sit on her parents’ bed with her father, and demand he tell her all the stories about his adventures at sea, and at some point her mother would come in chastising them about sitting down and doing nothing and here she was, slaving away in her clinic. They would always manage to convince her to join them, and they’d create elaborate tales together; usually, they’d look out at the stars through her parents’ window and make up constellations and stories to go along with the constellations, until all three of them fell asleep. Mingzhu would wake up almost suffocating from how tightly both of them were holding her.

Now, she was suffocating for different reasons entirely.

She swallowed roughly, unable to look away from her father; she searched his face desperately, looking for the light that always illuminated his face—but his skin was dull. Some secret, infuriating part of her mind whispered that he already looked like a corpse, but Mingzhu firmly shut down this part of her.

“Is it working?” she demanded, desperation making her voice rough with impatience. Her mother had administered a potion a few minutes ago--why weren’t the effects kicking in yet?

Her mother sighed; Mingzhu watched her lean frame tense as she focused intently on grounding bezoars. “No Mingzhu, it hasn’t started working in the five minutes since you last asked.” Even in grief and tension, her mother’s voice remained frustratingly practical.

Mingzhu felt irritation flooding her, and she lashed out instinctively: “Maybe it would be if you worked faster—or harder.” Her tone was malicious, and she watched her mother, wanting to see her words cut her. But when she saw her mother flinch immediately, Mingzhu felt awash with guilt; then, she cast another glance at her father as he groaned softly, and felt desperation and anger displace the guilt immediately.

To her mother’s credit, she didn’t return Mingzhu’s anger (which only frustrated her more; how could she stay so  _ calm _ ?). Instead she set her pestle down on the table and straightened until her back was perfectly straight and turned to face her daughter, to meet her eyes directly. She’d brushed her hair back into that tight, familiar bun of hers and was dressed in her plain, unassuming white Healer’s robes—the picture of practicality, without any frivolities whatsoever. 

She sounded it too when she started, evenly, in her Healer’s voice, “Mingzhu, I’ve tried all the known remedies to dragon pox, but your father’s case is different, probably a different strain, given how many other sailors have been presenting the same symptoms.” This had to be at least the twentieth time she’d given Mingzhu this explanation, and yet her voice remained infinitely patient.

“Right,” Mingzhu said, not really listening. Frustration crossed her face. “So that’s it? I guess we’ll just give up now?” Her voice was bitingly sarcastic, but Mingzhu’s mother’s expression only softened—not to a kind expression, but to an understanding and sympathetic expression.

“Mingzhu...” her mother said, her tone admonishing but with enough sadness that Mingzhu couldn’t be guiltlessly mad at her. “Of course I’m trying my hardest, but some things are just beyond our control.” 

“They’re only beyond your control if you stop trying. If you care at all about father, you wouldn’t stop trying. You’d never give up,” Mingzhu insisted venomously. Her father made a sound, a slight grimace of pain crossing his face--as if he could hear their conversation. Mingzhu’s mother’s face flashed with hurt, but rather than feeling vindicated, Mingzhu only felt sicker, heart heavier.

She wanted to stop, to apologize--but then one look at her father, and she couldn’t. “I will never stop trying,” she declared, with a final glance at her father. She grabbed her small coin purse off the table, before pushing her past her mother roughly.

She paused at the doorway, hearing a door close behind her with a soft but audible click. She knew that it was her mother disappearing into her room; Mingzhu strained her ears, waiting to hear yelling, or crying, or the sound of things being thrown around as her mother broke down.

Instead, all she heard was a deafening silence.

Like she was already mourning.

Mingzhu replayed their conversation in her head as she stormed down the beaten path to the market. She saw the other villagers’ piteous looks; the other sailors’ wives in particular, standing outside their homes, shrouded in dark robes, met her eyes with pain and understanding in their eyes.

They’d obviously reached the same conclusion as her mother. But Mingzhu didn’t want their sympathy or empathy. She gripped the coin purse tighter in her hand. She could feel the outlines of each individual coin through the fabric of the purse, so meager was her collection of coins. She was sure that her mother would say it wasn’t enough, that she was wasting her time--but Minghu was determined regardless. 

There had to be  _ something _ at the market that could help her father. 

She smelled the market before she saw it, the overwhelming stench of fish and the pungent odor of deceit unmistakable. When she was younger, she’d loved coming to the market, to see all the goods brought from worlds afar. But now Mingzhu only saw greed on the faces of the merchants and judgement on the faces of the other villagers.

She could feel their gazes following her as she navigated through the market, tracking her with bizarre fascination—like she was one of the creatures in the travelling circuses that came through the village from time to time. She could hear their whispers clearly:  _ twenty and unmarried, the  _ sailor’s _ daughter being so  _ bold _ to reject proposals... _

The villagers were creative in their theories. Some of them hypothesized that her mother was the one rejecting the matches ( _ no one would be satisfactory for her standards _ \--which was pretty true, actually), some thought that Mingzhu was already promised to another in a far off land—a husband her father had procured for her on one of his sailing trips. 

(She thought this was especially ridiculous; of all of the gifts her father could bring her, he knew that a  _ man _ was the one she would like  _ least _ ).

More insidious were the theories they  _ didn’t _ say, but all believed and that their eyes screamed at her. She slowed down by the florist’s booth, giving Hualing a kind smile. She looked up from arranging the petunias and returned her smile, delicate features lifting, her face shining. Mingzhu couldn’t help but stare for a beat longer than was appropriate—until the villagers’ watchful gaze burned her back.

Mingzhu’s personal hypothesis was that the villagers should mind their own business. 

The problem was, on their tiny island where almost nothing of significance ever happened, her business was, by default, everyone’s business. Just like Hualing’s business was everyone’s business—so everyone knew that she had fallen in love with, proposed to, and married another woman. No one would dare speak of it, but Mingzhu saw the looks the villagers exchanged when they approached her booth. She saw the men nudging one another, daring each other to approach the florist—to set her straight.

Mingzhu wished she could say she didn’t care for their opinions, but the weight of their disapproving gazes felt like shackles.

So Mingzhu looked away from the florist immediately, focusing on the medicinal herb stand. She straightened her back, holding her head high, as her hand curled more tightly around her coin purse. As she stopped at the stand, Mingzhu felt the vendor studying her, a sneer forming on his face—the kind she saw far too often on men’s faces.

“How can I help you, miss?” he asked, the sneer manifesting in his voice too.

“I heard you have a cure for dragon pox—the kind that’s been infecting the sailors,” she said directly, skipping any pleasantries. His gaze settled on her bones uneasily, making her feel gross and sleazy and tainted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Need it for your husband? Pretty girl like you could do better than a  _ sailor _ ,” the merchant said, blatant suggestion in his tone. Mingzhu immediately bristled at the disgust and elitism in his voice when he said “sailor”.

Too indignant, she returned sharply, too defensively, “My father. Do you have it or not?”

The merchant’s eyes gleamed with interest. “I do. Normally fifty galleons, but for you, I could do forty,” he said, looking smug and gratified, like he was being so gracious.

Mingzhu’s fingers traced the outlines of the coins in her purse. She knew, without counting, that she had nowhere near forty galleons. “Twenty,” she haggled—even though she had nowhere near twenty galleons either. She had watched her mother haggle for medicinal herbs before many times, and tried to mimic her now. She placed a stony-faced expression on her face, like she was some immovable object, forcing all to bend to her. She didn’t  _ feel _ like an immovable object, though; the merchant’s greedy gaze unsettled her, making her feel unsteady.

The merchant looked pensive for a moment, before starting. “How about this? I’ll give it to you for ten, and you can pay back the rest through... _ favors _ ,” he suggested, his meaning completely clear in the way he eyed her. Mingzhu stepped back, feeling herself tense, shivers of displeasure crawling over her skin—and then felt herself getting angry. There were no other medicinal stands, and this merchant knew that as well as she did. Her hands balled into fists, and she felt frustrated tears starting to prick at her eyes.

“Forget it,” she said sharply. “I’ll get you the full fifty galleons.” Determination on her face, Mingzhu stepped back from the merchant stand and turned around before the merchant could see her falling apart. That was it, her last chance to save her father; she wanted to scream from the unfairness of it.

How the fuck was she going to get  _ fifty _ galleons? She walked blindly away from the merchant’s stand, feeling her stomach drop and that heaviness in her heart return. Then her gaze landed on familiar shining pearls, resting on the necks of the rich women who walked through the market, giggling easily, carelessly.

Red-rimmed eyes focused on the pearls, watching how the women admired one another’s pearls, and an idea started forming in her head.

_ Maybe _ , she still had a chance.

* * *

Mingzhu went to the sea the moment the moon rose and all the wix fled as the jiaoren emerged from the sea.

She stood awkwardly a few feet from the water. She hadn’t exactly come up with any sort of plan finding a jiaoren who’d be willing to help her--but exactly how to do that, and how to ask this of them was completely beyond her. 

Lingering by the water, she watched the jiaoren coming out of the sea, the delight clear on their faces when they stepped onto the shore. She’d watched them come out of the sea many times, often peeking furtively out of her bedroom window, unable to resist, but the sight of their smiles remained just as enchanting as the first time.

Her analytical gaze swept over the shore as more jiaoren came out of the water, most of them heading up the path to the village. She could see a few lingering men watching them, reeking of desperation. They watched the jiaoren with greed, the desire to control them clear on their faces; for a moment, Mingzhu was reminded of the merchant at the stand--making her physically recoil. All of them, they just wanted to  _ use _ women, like they were objects they could use for personal gain, and then throw aside.

_ Isn’t that what you’re going to do? _

Mingzhu immediately pushed the thought aside when the insidious part of her mind whispered it to her, trying to ignore the unsettling taste on her tongue.

Her fingers ran over the outlines of the coins in her coin purse again, as she reminded herself of what was at stake. She couldn’t afford to feel guilty or unsettled by it; she didn’t have any other choice. She couldn’t give up on her father.

So instead, she continued to survey the shore, seeking out a jiaoren--still unable to shake off the feeling of being sort of like a predator herself. Her gaze fell on a jiaoren—the  _ only  _ jiaoren, and one that seemed extremely familiar to Mingzhu, for some reason—still in the water, standing in the lowest parts of water, only a few feet from the shore. Mingzhu could see that her tail had transformed into human legs--and yet the jiaoren  _ chose _ to stay in the water.

Curiosity drew her closer until she could clearly see the jiaoren’s face, which was turned slightly up to the moon. Mingzhu felt a momentary shock when she realized why she was so familiar; this was the jiaoren she’d seen the first time she’d seen jiaoren, the jiaoren whose face stayed on her mind for weeks afterwards. Mingzhu remembered her smile and the infectious joy on her face vividly, how she’d practically jumped out of the water and almost fallen onto the sand with gratitude.

She had looked so  _ free  _ then.

Driven by instinct more than reason, Mingzhu found herself wading out into the water until she was right behind the jiaoren whose gaze was still focused on the moon. She didn’t want to disrupt the jiaoren, who seemed to be in deep meditation--until she heard soft gasps and saw the jiaoren’s shoulders shake slightly. 

Mingzhu realized that the jiaoren was crying, and instinctively wanted to reach out to--comfort her? 

Take advantage of this moment to get the jiaoren’s pearls? 

It  _ was  _ incredibly fortuitous timing.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter; as she raised her hand, the jiaoren turned around, seeming to finally become aware of Mingzhu’s presence. Mingzhu immediately retracted her hand, letting it fall limpy to her hand. Her parted slightly as her gaze met the jiaoren’s shining eyes. All the jiaoren were beautiful, but this jiaoren seemed  _ different _ . Mingzhu could see a gentleness in her delicate porcelain features that was contrasted by the darkness in her eyes filled with resentment, sadness, and  _ hopelessness, _ all of which warred with the image Mingzhu had in her mind of the jiaoren with such pure joy on her face. 

Mingzhu was struck most by the absence of tears on the jiaoren’s face, even as she gasped and her face crumpled as she very obviously cried--like she’d trained herself to cry tearlessly.

Distrust filled the jiaoren’s expression, eyes narrowing and clouding so that Mingzhu could no longer see the emotions so clearly on her face. “What do you want?” The harshness of her words contrasted the natural melodic softness of the jiaoren’s voice. Mingzhu could feel the jiaoren studying her, pulling her apart as she drew conclusions. There was a sense of expectation on her face and in her voice and Mingzhu wondered if others had tried this before--to get her pearls. She felt a dash of guilt, which she pushed down.

She hadn’t exactly prepared a script--how  _ does  _ one ask a mermaid to give up their pearls and become permanently indebted to her, even if for the freedom to roam wherever they wanted? She blurted out instinctively, “I just want to know why you’re still in the water,” wincing immediately afterwards at her bluntness. Not exactly the most  _ charming _ introduction--ut she seemed to have caught the jiaoren by surprise.

The jiaoren studied her with renewed interest, though her expression was still wary. “Why do you want to know?” she returned, without missing a beat.

“I don’t know,” Mingzhu said honestly. “It’s just--all the other jiaoren left the water the moment the moon rose.” They’d fled the water at first opportunity, like they couldn’t wait to escape. “I just wondered what kept you in the water--technically, you can go anywhere you want now, right?”  _ And why you look so sad, _ Mingzhu mentally added.

The jiaoren laughed humorlessly. “Yes, anywhere--which includes right here.” Mingzhu was a little surprised, though not unpleasantly, at her snark. The jiaoren sounded resentful, though--surprisingly resentful for someone who supposedly voluntarily chose to stay here. 

Her gaze then shifted to the outline of the cliffs overlooking the sea, and Mingzhu saw a glimmer of fear and a shadow of darkness cross over her face--before she schooled her expression into something perfectly neutral.“But there’s no point. There is nothing on the land for me, but even if there was, why would I go there, only to be forced back here after a few hours? I’m sparing myself the disappointment.”

Confusion settled on Mingzhu’s face. She didn’t understand that all; she would never give up a chance to explore, even if it would be snatched away from her at any moment. Then she thought about her father, of the hope that filled her chest with every possible cure only to burn her when all those cures inevitably failed. She could hear a similar kind of pain in the jiaoren’s voice.

But even that pain would be nothing compared to the pain of losing her father.

Cautiously, she started, “I understand...but there’s a way to not be forced back, right? To be able to go on the land for as long as you want--avoid the disappointment?”

Mingzhu saw the moment the realization clicked on the jiaoren’s face. A flash of disappointment crossed her face, making Mingzhu’s heart squeeze with guilt--the insiduous voice whispered in her mind again, trapping the image of the jiaoren’s disappointed look in her memory--before her expression returned to that perfectly neutral state, not revealing anything. “You want my pearls.” 

It was a statement, not a question. The jiaoren’s face hardened. “Unfortunately for you, I’ll never give my pearls to anyone. Even if I were to give you my pearls, I wouldn’t actually be free--I’d be bound to your control.” The jiaoren studied Mingzhu, a flare of resentment in her eyes. “What do you want to use me for? Do you want me to be a pretty handmaiden that you can boast about? Or to distract a man for you? Deal with unwanted suitors?”

Mingzhu pursed her lips, looking visibly offended. She returned, “I don’t want anything from  _ you. _ I just want the pearls. You’ll be free to do whatever you like.”

The jiaoren looked taken aback with surprise again, but the wariness didn’t disappear from her face. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over Mingzhu, obviously studying her--like she was some kind of perplexing, and possibly dangerous, puzzle. After a beat, she finally asked, “Okay, then what do you want to use my pearls for?”

Mingzhu probably should’ve expected that question--but she hadn’t anticipated the jiaoren to be so resistant to the idea of freedom. Her eyes shuttered, a neutral expression falling on her face too. “It doesn’t matter,” she stated, looking away from the jiaoren for the first time in the conversation. Her jaw tightened and she focused on the moon.

The jiaoren was equally as stubborn, though. “If it doesn’t matter, then why won’t you tell me?”

“Very mature,” Mingzhu returned, rolling her eyes slightly. She hadn’t expected the jiaoren to be so  _ nosy. _

The jiaoren’s eyes narrowed; Mingzhu could see her clearly hypothesizing. “Then you must want to use it for something malicious.”

Growing slightly agitated, she relented snappishly, “Look, I’m not going to  _ hurt _ anyone with the pearls--not you, not any of the jiaoren, and no wix either.” The distrust didn’t completely disappear from the jiaoren’s face, but she did relax slightly. She continued to study Mingzhu carefully, seemingly deliberately.

Then, finally, she stated, with a hint of weariness in her voice, “I believe you. But I can’t give you my pearls.” Mingzhu furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, feeling desperation wash over her. The jiaoren seemed to be expecting, her expression softening briefly. “And you should get home now--it’s getting dark and dangerous.”

Mingzhu wanted to resist, but the jiaoren gave her a challenging look--and it became clear that she was just as stubborn and unyielding as Mingzhu, perhaps even  _ more. _ She reluctantly relented, nodding and turning away from the jiaoren as she waded out of the water. As she stepped onto the shore, she glanced over her shoulder at the jiaoren, her heart thrilling slightly at the curiosity and interest on her face. A slight smile slipped onto her face.

Mingzhu was positive that this wasn’t the end. The jiaoren hadn’t said that she  _ wouldn’t _ give her the pearls--she said that she  _ couldn’t. _ Like there was something stopping her. Mingzhu remembered her shuttered expression, the pain hidden in her eyes.

There was more to her story, and Mingzhu was determined to find out--and then convince the jiaoren to ultimately give her her pearls. There was no way she was giving up so easily.

* * *

The next night, Mingzhu came back to the sea. Some part of her had been thinking about this all day. She wanted to say it was the rational scheming side of her that saw an opportunity in the jiaoren, trying to figure out a way to get her to give up her pearls. But really, when had she ever listened to that rational scheming side? She couldn’t deny that part of her was fixated on the challenging look in the jiaoren’s eyes.

Like the previous night, the jiaoren was standing in the water, a few feet from the shore, her face turned to the moon. Mingzhu quietly waded into the water until she was, once again, standing right beside the jiaoren. The jiaoren clearly noticed her presence--Mingzhu saw her tense lightly--but she didn’t say anything, so Mingzhu didn’t say anything, instead watching her.

Tonight, she had braided her sleek dark hair--a simple, elegant braid, a crown on top of her head. She looked regal in many ways, and Mingzhu didn’t have any trouble believing the myths that her parents had told her about the jiaoren. She didn’t think that this jiaoren would need to weave a trap for sailors to steal their hearts; Mingzhu would gladly give her her heart.

Her parents had also told her how dangerous jiaoren were. But then, the jiaoren turned towards her, looking so vulnerable in her gentle blush that Mingzhu couldn’t possibly believe those myths.

“I told you that I can’t give you my pearls,” she reminded Mingzhu, her tone cautious and mildly exasperated, but not impatient. “You’re wasting your time--you should talk to my sisters instead,” she suggested, gesturing to the other jiaoren who were running out of the water and chasing each other down the path to the village, laughing.

Internally, Mingzhu had to admit that the jiaoren was probably right. But she couldn’t really seem to stay away from this jiaoren. “I don’t want your pearls,” she said, fibbing slightly. “And I don’t want to talk to your sisters, either. I just want to talk to  _ you. _ ”

She was rewarded with the sight of the jiaoren turning to face her, with a slight smile and faint blush back on her face--which was quickly becoming one of her favorite sights. “And maybe your name,” she added a little flirtatiously.

The jiaoren laughed at the obvious line. “I thought you said yesterday that you didn’t want  _ me, _ only my pearls?” she returned teasingly, her face seeming lighter than Mingzhu had ever seen. For a moment, Mingzhu was reminded of how joyful she’d looked the first time she’d seen her, and her smile softened.

Mingzhu maintained eye contact as she shrugged, “I don’t know, I realized that I couldn’t stop thinking about you, not your pearls.” The jiaoren’s flush deepened and Mingzhu felt kind of weightless, for the first time since her father’s diagnosis.

“My name is Cho,” the jiaoren relented finally.

“Mingzhu,” the witch returned. Then more softly, “Would you mind keeping me company, Cho? I’m feeling lonely.”

Cho’s smile flickered for a brief moment, before she acquiesced with a slight nod. She shifted over so that Mingzhu could stand beside her and turned to look back up at the stars, her eyes shining a little. “I’ve found that the stars helps me, even when I feel most lonely.” Looking at Cho’s face, Mingzhu could see a glimmer of something that looked like hope when she looked at the stars--hope, if it was tempered with resentment, though.

Mingzhu followed her gaze to the stars speckling the sky. “I get what you mean. I used to look at the stars and come up with new constellations--and invent stories to go along with them,” she said, fondness tempered with sadness in her voice. Those memories with her parents felt so  _ painful _ now.

Cho glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Are any of those constellations in the sky tonight?”

Mingzhu’s gaze swept the sky as she recalled the stories she’d invented with her parents. She picked a cluster of stars that formed the vague outline of a bird. “That one--that’s the Firebird,” Mingzhu started, her eyes sparking as she remembered what her mother had told her about this creature. “My mother came up with this constellation; she said that the firebird roams through the skies and brings endless light wherever it goes--that it was put in the sky because it was too beautiful to be around mortals.”

Cho’s eyes were also bright, fascination clear on her face. “Another,” she demanded, her gaze sweeping the stars--now without the resentment that Mingzhu had seen earlier. Mingzhu laughed slightly.

She pointed at another cluster of stars, forming the shape of an arrow. “This one, the Arrow, is a magical arrow that can fly infinitely and can choose wherever it wants to land,” she said.

“That’s bizarre and completely unrealistic. Physics doesn’t work that way, gravity--” Cho returned and Mingzhu cut her off, giving her a look of mock indignation, though she was internally amused at exactly how  _ nerdy _ Cho was.

“--is inconsequential. It’s a  _ story _ ; it doesn’t need to be realistic or make any kind of sense. It just has to be magical,” she returned matter-of-factly. “You try,” she said insistently.

Cho’s gaze focused on the stars, and Mingzhu saw a wistful look in her eyes. She pointed at a cluster of stars, tracing out the silhouette of a woman, turning Mingzhu gently so she was looking at the same cluster. “This constellation is a woman trapped in a magical net, trying to get herself out--but she can’t. The net just keeps getting tighter and smaller, and soon she won’t be able to move at all.” There was a dark and hollow sadness in Cho’s face that made Mingzhu’s heart pang painfully.

She gently held Cho’s hand, guiding it a little lower and traced out the arrow again. “The woman doesn’t worry, because the arrow can cut through the net for her,” she informed her, a completely serious look on her face.

Cho laughed. “I don’t think you get how constellations work. You can’t just  _ move _ them around to your convenience,” she returned, shaking her head slightly, though she looked a little less sad. She had this smile on her face, with a tender fondness that made Mingzhu’s heart beat a little faster. 

“Says who?” Mingzhu challenged, shrugging. “They’re just stars, and it’s just stories--we can do whatever want.”

Cho’s lips parted for a moment, like she wanted to argue--but then she simply stared at Mingzhu in wonderment, looking fascinated by her. It wasn’t the strange fascination Mingzhu was used to receiving though; it was more like...pure awe. “Who  _ are _ you?” she whispered, her dark eyes focused on Mingzhu’s face.

Mingzhu blushed slightly and dropped her gaze to their hands, which had remained intertwined. Cho’s hand seemed to fit perfectly in hers--which it really shouldn’t have, for a multitude of reasons. Mingzhu found it difficult to remind herself of these reasons, though, at this particular moment, with Cho staring at her, the moonlight bathing her skin, and when she could feel her soft skin.

She allowed herself a brief indulgent moment because she’d been so lonely for so long, and Cho was clearly happy too--which made Mingzhu’s heart soar.

Then, one of the desperate fishermen made a directed a catcalling sound and the moment was effectively shattered. Mingzhu snatched her hand away from Cho’s, forcing her heartbeat to calm down, and she glanced away from Cho. What was she doing? She didn’t have time for indulgent moments; she needed to get the pearls, for her father.

“I should probably go,” she said, reluctance clear in her tone as she made no attempt to move away from Cho. A flicker of disappointment crossed the jiaoren’s face, but she seemed to understand and sober up slightly herself. A mask of seriousness fell on her face and she nodded.

“Stay safe,” Cho said, casting a glance at the fishermen who were still eyeing them like they wanted to devour them.

Mingzhu nodded, wanting to say something else--about how Cho should also stay safe, about how she could free herself, about how she was like the Firebird, bringing endless light.

Instead she offered a small smile, before turning around and wading out of the water, her hands burning.

She decided that she needed to stop this. Tomorrow, she would find a different jiaoren and she would get the pearls for her father. She would focus again, on what was important: saving her father.

She kept reminding herself of this as she walked up the path to her home, casting a drying spell on her clothes so her mother wouldn’t be suspicious. When she entered her parents’ room, Mingzhu found her mother seated beside her father, like always; Mingzhu leaned down and kissed her father’s forehead, trying to memorize his features and replace the image of Cho’s smile in her mind.

Her mother still gave her a questioning look. “What happened? You look different,” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Mingzhu tried to act natural. Her gaze turned to the window, through which she could see the stars speckling the sky. “Nothing,” she said distractedly and very unconvincingly. Her gaze focused on the Firebird constellation. She turned back, suddenly, to face her mother. Maybe it was the nostalgia that had come crashing to her after thinking about the constellations again, or maybe it was this strange lighthearted feeling in her chest after talking to Cho--but she wanted desperately to connect with her mother now, for her to feel the same painful nostalgia as she felt now.

“The Firebird’s in the sky tonight,” she said. Her mother looked confused for a second before realization dawned upon her. She stood from her father’s side, coming to stand beside her daughter at the window, her gaze falling naturally on the Firebird. Mingzhu saw a small smile appear on her mother’s face.

“I haven’t seen the Firebird for a long time,” her mother admitted, fondness in her tone. “I think it’s a good sign.”

Mingzhu cast a glance at her father, whose face had grown more pale over the past couple days. She knew her mother could see that too, and could tell that she didn’t truly believe that herself either--that she was probably saying to Mingzhu, so as to not entirely crush her hopes.

“I think so too,” Mingzhu allowed herself to say.

One last indulgent moment--and that was it. She couldn’t resist.

* * *

She really tried to remind herself of this the next night, when she came back to the sea. She reminded herself of her father’s face, of the clock ticking in the back of her head. There was no time more self-indulgence. But then Cho called her name, her voice full of excitement and such genuine pleasure at seeing her again.

Mingzhu cast another glance at the other jiaoren coming out of the sea, feeling herself caught between what was the most rational choice and the choice that her heart desperately wanted to make.

(She’d never been very good at listening to her rational side).

Mingzhu felt herself returning Cho’s smile, feeling herself pulled to the jiaoren, unwittingly. Maybe it’d be easier to resist if Cho wasn’t so damn  _ adorable. _

The jiaoren pointed at the stars, tracing out the shape of the constellation of the woman--but she was a few feet away from her position last night. “Look,” Cho said brightly. “She’s free now; se can go where she wants, now. The arrow was very helpful.”

Mingzhu raised an eyebrow, feeling her heart warm. “I thought you said the stars don’t work that way,” she teased her.

Cho shrugged, mirroring her own shrug from last night. She gave Mingzhu a bright and carefree smile, returning, “Well, this very persistent witch proved otherwise.”

In that moment, Mingzhu knew that there was no way that she’d be able to stop herself from indulging once again. How could she, when Cho had entranced her so completely, and was looking at her like that, like she’d been thinking about Mingzhu as much as Mingzhu had been thinking about her?

Mingzhu stepped closer to Cho, her smile slowly widening, as she turned to look up at the constellation. “Okay, then. Where’s she going?” she asked, obvious wanderlust in her eyes. At this exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to be free to wander wherever she wanted--to do whatever she wanted. She wanted to be as free as the woman in the sky.

Cho looked pensive. “I don’t know...” Her expression became sheepish. “I was hoping you’d help me with that part of the story. Where would you want to go?”

Mingzhu’s eyes sparked brighter, as she started to think of all the places she wanted to go. “Merlin, where to start?” she began, wistfully. “My father has told me about so many places--you wouldn’t believe some of the worlds out there. There are islands where the women can transform into dragons and cities floating in the skies, and places where the sun never sets,” she said, falling completely into the fantasy. Some of those worlds seemed so truly unbelievable, but Mingzhu embraced their magic wholly. The fantasy embraced her, and she never wanted to come back to the real world.

“Maybe she’s going to one of those islands where you can be who you truly are.” Mingzhu’s gaze shifted momentarily to Cho as she continued. “Be with who you truly love.”

Cho held her gaze, her expression softening. Mingzhu felt like Cho could see right through her, right to heart. She shivered slightly, looking away and instead focusing on the stars, feeling the sea washing over toes.

“All of those worlds sound amazing,” Cho said, Mingzhu’s wistfulness mirrored in her tone. Part of Mingzhu thought that this was a natural opportunity--she could suggest that if Cho gave her pearls, then she could see all of those worlds, and more. But then Cho continued, and those thoughts immediately fell away. “Is your father there? On one of those islands?”

Mingzhu tensed immediately, her father’s face filling her mind. Her gaze dropped to the sea, and she shook her head, pretending to be fascinated with how the water swept over her toes.

Cho noticed immediately placed a comforting hand on her back, the touch warming Mingzhu’s entire body. She knew she shouldn’t be leaning into her touch--she should be focusing on her father. _ Maybe _ , some hopeful part of her whispered.  _ You could do both. Get close enough to her that she’ll voluntarily give up her pearls. _

Some other part of her felt a little disgusted at the manipulativeness, her stomach twisting.

But what choice did she have?

Mingzhu took a deep breath and met Cho’s gaze again, forcing brightness back into her eyes. “Enough of that. I’ve had this burning question in my mind for  _ ages, _ and you’re the only one who could possibly answer it,” Mingzhu started, with a serious tone but a playful smile on her face. Cho raised an eyebrow.

“Are the fish friendly? Some of them have got to be real bastards, right? I bet the jellyfish are real assholes,” Mingzhu declared and Cho laughed.

She grabbed Mingzhu’s hand, pulling her further into the water. “They’re...not the friendliest. Let me introduce you to the others,” she said, grinning. Mingzhu kept reminding herself that ultimately, this was all to get the pearls for her father. All for her father. To save him.

But Cho’s smile made her feel like she could float away.

* * *

Nights with Cho became routine all too quickly. Mingzhu should’ve been concerned at how often she thought about Cho throughout the day, how her heart would instantly start beating faster as the sun got closer and closer to setting--like she’d been  _ conditioned _ or something. She should’ve been concerned about how Cho’s easily smile made her feel limitless, and how her face quickly became the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep.

She should’ve been concerned about how they grew progressively closer--figuratively and literally--every night. Instead, as she sat down on the shore next to Cho, she leaned into her touch, feeling serene and calm--and giddy when Cho leaned into her touch too.

Cho was gently braiding Mingzhu’s hair, after Mingzhu had confessed how much she’d loved her braid (somehow, the jiaoren had taken that as a compliment to her braiding abilities rather than a confession of how beautiful Mingzhu found her; the witch was starting to realize that Cho could be rather daft sometimes). Mingzhu practically melted under the feeling of Cho running her fingers through her hair.

And then immediately felt guilty for her weakness.

What the fuck was she doing? She had a mission that she needed to complete for someone who meant the world to her.

Unconsciously, Mingzhu tensed--not much, but enough for Cho to notice. Her hands in Mingzhu’s hair stilled. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone soft, her breath right by Mingzhu’s ear, making the witch almost shiver instinctively.

Mingzhu was silent for a moment. Then, when she spoke, the words came out of her of their own accord--she wasn’t even really thinking about what she was saying. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”

Now, Cho was the one to stiffen; she tensed up and immediately dropped her hands from Mingzhu’s hair, leaning back away from Mingzhu.

Instinctively, Mingzhu leaned further back towards, seeking her warmth. After a few beats, Cho shuffled closer to Mingzhu again, her hands coming back to her hair. Mingzhu could sense that Cho was different though, more reserved. There was a long pause.

And then: “Twice.”

Mingzhu’s head snapped back to look at Cho’s face, her heart almost breaking at the hollow expression on Cho’s face. She held her gaze, patiently waiting for Cho to say more--if she wanted to.

Cho took a few deep breaths, before continuing--looking ahead at the sea, but not really seeming to be seeing anything. “The first time, I met him on a sailing trip. Cedric, he was so much kinder than the other sailors and so...so hopeful. They’d been struck by a storm and lost almost half of their ship and he remained so calm.” Her eyes were blank, her tone becoming duller. “We fell in love.” For a moment, she seemed lost in memories, her lips curling into a sad smile. “My sisters thought I was insane. Fishermen and sailors do this all the time--try to win our trust and love and then steal our pearls and turn us into their slaves.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “But I was ready. To give him my pearls. To give him everything.”

Mingzhu watched with fascination as a single tear fell down Cho’s cheek, crystalling into a pearl before hitting the sand. She turned completely so that she was now directly facing Cho.

“What happened to him?” Mingzhu asked, her voice soft..

“He was attacked. His ship stopped at an island, and I went on the land with him--but the people of the island were ruthless. They killed him when he was trying to defend me and the other sailors.” Cho’s voice grew darker and rougher, anger filling every syllable. Mingzhu’s gaze fell down to Cho’s hands, finding her nails curled into her palms.

Gently, she uncurled the jiaoren’s hands, pulling her hands into her own. She rubbed gentle circles into the back of Cho’s hands. “And the second time?” she pressed, her voice as infinitely gentle as her touch.

Pain flashed across Cho’s face. “Harry. After Cedric, I was so...broken. And I thought he could heal me. He was so strong, so brave--he’d been on the same sailing trip with Cedric and he’d helped the other sailors. And he listened to me.” Sadness filled her expression. “I talked to him about Cedric, a lot. And I thought...I thought he’d understand, because he loved Cedric too. I was ready to give him my pearls too.” A frown rose to her face. “But loving Cedric and understanding my pain didn’t translate to loving  _ me. _ He left me.”

Mingzhu’s heart ached for Cho. The jiaoren paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing. “So that’s why I can’t go on the land. I don’t... _ deserve _ to. I deserve to be trapped  _ here _ , forever,” she gestured to the sea, the resentment and anger clear in her voice. Mingzhu had always thought that the anger was directed at people who’d hurt her, but knowing that the anger was directed at herself made Mingzhu’s heart hurt for Cho.

She grabbed Cho’s hands tightly, forcing her to look at her. “No, Cho, you’re wrong. It wasn’t  _ your _ fault--and your imprisonment here,” she said, gesturing to the sea, “isn’t your fault either. You deserve to be free. To be loved.” She held Cho’s eyes--even though Cho looked away--wanting to add,  _ to be loved by me. _ But she stamped down on that part of herself, instead refocusing on Cho, filled with admiration for her.

She understood Cho so much better now--why she was so wary, why she fixated on the constellation of the woman who could be free. “You’re so strong,” she whispered, making Cho’s gaze snap up to meet hers, disbelief in her eyes. The jiaoren looked like she was going to protest, so Mingzhu squeezed her hands gently, continuing. “No, really. I can’t imagining losing so much and still continuing on. And then having the strength to  _ tell _ me that too... You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Mingzhu drew in a deep breath, trying to draw from Cho’s strength.

“My father is dying,” she declared.

Her voice shook a little after she said it. She hadn’t ever said it aloud yet. She’d thought it sometimes, in the darkness of night, watching her father’s face, trying to count his breaths to make sure that he was actually still breathing. In those moments when nothing but desperation filled her, the insidious part of her brain whispered the truth to her, whether she wanted to accept it or not. Thinking it then felt like a betrayal, but nothing like what it felt to  _ say _ it now.

Cho made a sound of sympathy. “Oh, Mingzhu...” Her eyes softened with empathy and sympathy--the kind that she hated to see from the villagers, but that embraced her and made her want to break down in Cho’s arms.

She drew in a shaky breath, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She hadn’t cried yet for her father, trying so hard to be strong. Crying meant that she accepted that he was gone, that there was nothing she could do.

“Mingzhu...” Cho wrapped her arms around Mingzhu’s body, pulling her closer to her, her hands cradling Mingzhu’s head.

“I’ve never felt so  _ trapped _ ,” Mingzhu shuddered out, between the tears falling down her face. “Like I don’t have any choices, and I’m going to lose him--”

She felt gentle hands lifting her chin up firmly--and met Cho’s eyes. The jiaoren was also crying, her eyes red-rimmed, understanding in her eyes. But her face was fierce--only strength. “No. You’re the arrow--you decide your own destiny,” she said firmly, holding Mingzhu’s face in her hands.

In that moment, Mingzhu was dazzled by the woman in front of her. She was...otherworldly. Not because she was a jiaoren, but because of the hope and strength that she radiated, even in spite of all the pain she’d suffered.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Mingzhu acted out of instinct, and leaned forward, and kissed Cho. The jiaoren made a noise of surprise, before sighing and kissing her back, just as enthusiastically. Her hands tangled in Mingzhu’s hair pulling apart the braid she’d been so meticulously creating, and Mingzhu felt utter bliss under Cho’s touch. Her heart was soaring, and this, this was true weightlessness, kissing Cho under the moonlight--

\--Mingzhu drew away from Cho, her heart pounding in her chest, breathing heavily. “Give me your pearls. You can trust me, please--I just--I need to--”

Cho’s eyes widened and she recoiled away from her, falling backwards on the sand. “W-what?”

Desperation filled Mingzhu’s voice. “Cho, please. I need to...I need to save my father. To take control of my own destiny.”

“And mine too?” Cho returned, hurt filling her voice. Mingzhu wished that she’d been angry, because that would’ve cut her less than the hurt in her eyes and her voice.

Cho stumbled to her feet, scooping up some of the pearls that had fallen on the sand. “Here. Have them--if it means that you’ll leave me alone,” she said, her voice colder than Mingzhu had ever known it to be. Mingzhu flinched as the pearls hit her skin. She tried to stumble to her feet, her legs weak; Cho was running away from her, into the water.

“Cho, wait!” Mingzhu called out, fumbling forward to try to follow her, but Cho had already disappeared into the water, her legs turning into a tail.

Mingzhu felt like she couldn’t breath, her head pounding. Two minutes ago she’d been kissing Cho--she could still taste on her lips, feel her breath on her skin--and now she was gone. Desperation, of an entirely different kind, filled her, and Mingzhu scooped up the pearls. She wasn’t really thinking as she stumbled her way up the path home.

She burst inside the cottage, running past her parents’ room--her mother stuck her head out, calling after her, concern clearly in her voice--and flung herself onto her bed, magically slamming her door shut.

* * *

A few hours later, Mingzhu had finally calmed down enough to open her door, to find her mother standing right outside, with her patient and understanding expression on her face. Normally that expression pissed her off to no end, but right now, her face crumpled at the sight of such genuine love, and she let her mother fold her into her arms.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my pearl,” her mother whispered, rubbing her back. Her hands were small but strong. “I feel like you’ve been slowly breaking apart for the past few weeks.”

Mingzhu’s mother guided her to her bed, continuing to rub her back comfortingly. The entire story spilled out of Mingzhu--how she’d gone to the merchant’s stand, how she’d thought of this foolproof plan for saving her father, how she’d met Cho...her face reddened and she trained her gaze on her bedspread. She knew what her mother thought about the jiaoren, and expected to hear her berating her or calling  _ her _ an abomination for talking to one. For falling in love with one.

Instead, when she dared to glance at her mother’s face, she saw that her mother was crying too--a sight that stunned Mingzhu. She’d never seen her mother cry before.

“Oh, Mingzhu,” she said, cupping her daughter’s face. “I wish you’d come to me sooner. I could’ve...” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been losing the love of my life for the past few weeks--losing a small part of him every day...and I haven’t been able to do a thing about it.” Finally, Mingzhu could hear the frustration that she’d so desperately sought. She watched her mother’s face. “And you...I’ve been losing you for  _ years. _ ”

Mingzhu drew in a shuddering, surprised breath. “What do you mean, I’m right here...?”

Her mother cut her off. “No, not literally...it’s just, every day, I’ve seen more and more of your light going out of you. You used to be such a happy girl, so carefree. And now you seem so angry, like you’re hiding something.” Her mother held her gaze, speaking steadily and firmly, eyes teary but clear and unwavering. “I know what you’re hiding, and you don’t have to hide anymore.” Mingzhu sucked in a breath, feeling terror fill her for a moment. Then, her mother continued, “You are free to love who you love.”

Mingzhu couldn’t make a single sound, almost physically shaking. 

Her mother’s smile widened, and she pulled Mingzhu closer to her chest, continuing to speak lowly. “If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that you should never let go of the people you love. Even if the world tries to take everything from you--the least you can do is to resist as long as possible, hold on as tight as possible.” She pressed a light kiss to Mingzhu’s forehead as she continued to rub circles on her back until the girl calmed down.

“I love you,” Mingzhu said into her mother’s robes. She realized that it had been a long time--too long--since she’d last told her mother that.

She could feel her mother smile in the way that she held her just a little bit tighter.

After a few minutes, Mingzhu withdrew from her mother, wiping at her tear stained cheeks. “What should I do, mama?”

Her mother gave her a look, like it was obvious--her frustrating sense of practicality returning. “You should go find her and tell her you love her.”

Though her mother didn’t say it, Mingzhu could tell that she’d mentally tacked on  _ you idiot _ at the end.

Then a stern look passed over her mother’s face again as she gently pushed her daughter onto the bed. “In the morning, though. You have a tendency to act impulsively--” she ignored Mingzhu’s indignant sound of protest at that-- “so you need to sleep and come up with a plan.”

Mingzhu rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her mother’s demanding tone, even though she was, naturally, entirely right. The emotional exhaustion of the day was starting to catch up to her, and she snuggled into her covers, mumbling a sleepy “thank you” to her mother before she fell asleep.

* * *

It took a few days for Mingzhu to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. 

She took to pacing down the seashore in the morning (though it wasn’t exactly voluntary; her mother had grown too tired of her haunting the window looking for a glimpse of Cho and told her to just go and find her already) with the hopes of finding Cho. She knew it was unlikely; the jiaoren always stayed underwater during the day. But part of her was still foolishly and illogically hopeful.

She walked down the shore one morning, mumbling her speech to herself in her head. She was sure she was going to forget the words; Mingzhu wasn’t very good at sticking to plans, on the rare occasions that she actually came up with one. Until she heard a cry for help from a very familiar voice.

Mingzhu instantly panicked the moment she heard Cho’s voice, whipping her head around until she found Cho at the edge where the water met the sand, entangled in a fisherman’s net. A red haze of anger passed over her gaze for a moment--those fucking fishermen, she should’ve known. She immediately ran to help Cho, trying to free her from the net; Cho was sobbing, heaving, her face red and darkened with anger.

“Cho, it’s okay! I’m here--I’ll help you,” Mingzhu promised. She couldn’t get the net off of Cho, so instead she attempted to use her wand to cut the rope--but the rope had clearly been magically fortified to resist being cut. “I can’t--Cho, you have to free yourself.” Cho made a panicked disbelieving sound, her eyes wide, her breaths short. 

“I can’t, they’ve trapped me--they’ll be back any moment and--”

Mingzhu hushed her. “You can do it. If I’m the arrow, you’re the woman in the sky--who frees herself and takes control of her own destiny,” she reminded her, holding her gaze steadily and encouraging her. Her fingers curled into the sand; the desperation at the thought of losing Cho filled her, but she kept reminding herself of what her mother had said. She couldn’t let go. She had to keep holding on as tightly as she could.

Cho started pulling at the net, using her nails to cut the rope--somehow able to break it even when Mingzhu’s wand hadn’t had any effect. When that took too long, Cho started to literally unweave the net until it fell apart around her in tangles of rope. Mingzhu breathed out in amazement, about to ask Cho how in the world she’d done that, when she felt Cho launching herself at her, tackling her backwards onto the sand. 

Cho hugged her tightly and Mingzhu hugged her back, laughing and crying. Cho pressed kisses over her face, burying her face into her neck. Mingzhu could feel Cho’s pearl-tears rolling down her face--but this time, they were tears of joy.

Mingzhu scrambled to remember the speech she’d prepared. “Cho, I’m really sorry--I shouldn’t have asked for your pearls and taken advantage of your vulnerability. I never wanted to take control of your destiny, I was just...selfish. I know that I’ve lost your trust and I--” She was having trouble remembering the rest of it, with Cho pressed up against her and still kissing her and the desperation and relief in such quick succession. She muttered “fuck it” and winged the rest, instinctively, “--I want you be to free and I want us to be together so that  _ I _ can be free, and I’m going to do everything I can to free you--”

Cho cut her off, making Mingzhu make an irritated sound. “--I’m already free.” Mingzhu’s irritation disappeared, replaced by confusion. Cho noticed the look of confusion on her face, and smiled slightly. “This isn’t as well known to wix--but if a jiaoren cries out of love and gives her pearls to a human, then she frees herself. Completely.”

Mingzhu’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “But how does that--” the realization dawned upon her, and she was silent for a moment, her lips parting. “ _ Oh.” _

Cho giggled, pressing her lips against Mingzhu’s neck.

“You love me?” Mingzhu said faintly, a little breathlessly. She felt Cho nod against her.

“For some reason,” she teased, and Mingzhu laughed slightly. She sat up on the sand, to meet Cho’s gaze directly, taking in her face, slightly reddened from all the kissing.

“I love you too,” she declared and Cho’s smile widened. 

“I suspected,” she teased warmly, drawing Mingzhu in for a kiss--this one slow and gentle, but still taking Mingzhu’s breath away. After a few minutes, Cho drew away suddenly, despite Mingzhu’s sound of protest and attempts to pull her back. “Hey. Do you still have my pearls?”

Mingzhu stiffened at all, guilt filling her face. Selfishly--and she knew this wasn’t healthy at all--she had been hoping that Cho wouldn’t ask about her pearls again. She said cautiously, “...yes.” She hastened to continue, seeing Cho’s mouth open to say something, “but I wasn’t planning on selling them. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking of doing with them. I just...they’re a part of you, and I didn’t want to lose them.”

Cho shook her head, smiling. “I’m not angry. I get it. I don’t think I ever really believed that you were going to sell the pearls. I knew you weren’t that kind of person,” she said, cupping Mingzhu’s face and stroking her cheek gently. “I have an idea for what to do with them, though. Can we go to your father?”

Mingzhu raised an eyebrow at Cho’s crypticness, but nodded, letting Cho guiding her to her feet. Her hand slipped into Cho’s, their fingers weaving together. As the two of them walked up the path to the bounds of the village, she leaned towards Cho, saying lowly and in an appropriately aggrieved tone, “I had a really nice speech prepared for you, by the way, before you cut me off.”

“Oh?” Cho’s voice was full of amusement.

“Yes. There was a poem in it, too.”

Cho laughed, the sound filling Mingzhu’s heart. “Well, you can recite it for me now.”

* * *

A few hours later, Mingzhu was sitting beside her father in her parents’ room, Cho and her mother beside her.

Her father was sitting up on their bed for the first time in probably  _ weeks, _ color slowly flooding back into his skin.

At first, Mingzhu hadn’t exactly believed Cho’s suggestion of a way to help her father. In her defense, “let’s put my pearls in a potion and feed it to him” sounded absolutely  _ insane-- _ but somehow, her mother, the most scientific person Mingzhu knew, had agreed without hesitation.

She supposed that was a testament to how desperate she was.

While they waited for the potion to take effect, Mingzhu, Cho, and her mother sat by the window, sipping cups of tea, talking. Mingzhu kept watching her mother, waiting for her old prejudices to arise; she waited to see her mother flinch when Cho approached her, for her gaze to fixate on the horns on her head or the unnatural paleness of her skin. But her mother looked  _ pleased _ to see Cho--especially after Cho started asking questions about medicinal herbs and the best techniques for treating various illnesses.

(It was a smart move, really, appealing to her mother’s nerd side).

Her mother was going on about how criminally underappreciated mandrake root was as a potions ingredient, when her father mumbled out, with teasing laughter in his voice, “Is your mother talking about mandrake root again?”

Mingzhu had never seen her mother so delighted to be teased by her father.

She had spent the last hour introducing her parents to Cho, who, as expected, effortlessly charmed them, and soaking up her father’s laughter. She hadn’t heard it in  _ weeks _ , or seen his smile. She felt giddy, and looking at Cho and her parents together, in some way, complete.

The sun was starting to set, the clouds turning a feathery pink. Mingzhu rose from her father’s bedside, ignoring the pouting look he gave her to make her stay, and turned to Cho. “Do you want to take a walk?” she asked quietly. As much as she loved this time with her parents, she wanted to spend a little alone time with her girlfriend.

A sweet blush formed on Cho’s cheeks, as if she’d forgotten everything that had happened between them in the excitement. She nodded in agreement, and Mingzhu grabbed her hand to gently guide her out of the cottage, ignoring the knowing smiles on her parents’ faces.

“How did you do that?” she asked Cho as they started down the path to the seashore. The villagers were starting to come out of their homes, and were staring at her--not obviously, but with furtive glances and whispers,

Cho shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I’ve heard that pearls given in love also having healing properties--but I didn’t know if it was true. Apparently it was, though,” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder at the cottage. “I hope your father will recover quickly.”

“I can’t believe your pearls did that,” Mingzhu said, following her gaze. She met Cho’s eyes with a smug smirk on her face. “That must mean that you love me a lot, right?” 

Even though she laughed, Cho was completely serious when she replied, “Yes. I do.” Mingzhu’s eyes softened and she pulled Cho in for a kiss, not caring who was watching. She could hear the villagers exchanging whispers again and waited for that cold chill of fear and shame to bloom again in her throat.

Instead, the whispers rolled off her, and all she felt was Cho smiling against her lips. Mingzhu leaned into Cho’s embrace. She was done letting anyone else control her.

She had found her light.


End file.
